


Grime - C.G x R.A

by Agent_Mothman



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: AU, Abuse, Alexandria Safe-Zone, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Boy x boy, Carl is from Junkyard, Emotional, End of the World, Gay, Group switch, Homophobia, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, Junkyard (Walking Dead), LGBTQ, M/M, MxM - Freeform, PDA, Ron is from the Saviors, Sad, Scary, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, The Hilltop (Walking Dead), The Sanctuary (Walking Dead), Violence, Walkers, Wild Carl, Zombie Apocalypse, Zombies, a little bit, etc - Freeform, rarl - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-12-03 06:31:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11526525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agent_Mothman/pseuds/Agent_Mothman
Summary: He looked like a wild animal and spoke in choppy sentences, but Ron Anderson couldn't help but like him.  Ron and his friends, Mikey and Sophia, are Saviors under the management of Negan. When what starts out as a normal trip to Junk Yard turns sour between the bat-wielding leader and Junker Lieutenant, Rick Grimes, the Saviors take a certain prisoner that Ron ends up caring for in more ways than one.





	1. Chapter 1

The point of being dispatched from the Sanctuary in groups of at least 8, and always in even numbers, was for the sake of the buddy system that Negan was so fond of. You always had someone to watch your back. Your second, your extra set of eyes, your back up; it was all synonymous to the Saviors. They traveled together, ate together, they shared beds, ideas, and stories together. It was all part of the system, and God bless the system, because Ron Anderson was alive because of it, despite his habitual desire to disobey direct orders.

Ron owed his life to buddy system many a time, and more than often walkers were to thank for his near death experiences, humans beings on their side for the most part. Once in a while, the Saviors came across other groups, and they benefited from the Savior's protection while providing resources. Everything functioned smoothly, like a well-oiled machine, to ensure the survival of all the groups. That is until it didn't function smoothly.

People, stupid people, in Ron's opinion, were not happy with the deal and were revolting. The kingdom was always arguing about what was owed; which debts didn't need to be paid. Hilltop was stingy with their goods, and Alexandria, well, Alexandria was the worst of all; the newest to the web that Negan and his people had mapped out between Richmond and Washington.

One of the only loyal groups was Junk Yard, or so they thought. Frequent trips were made to both Alexandria and Junkyard, to make sure both were in line, and for two different reasons.

While Alexandria rebelled, it was full of weak people that clung to their old lives religiously. The junkyard was occupied with savages, people that Negan wanted on his side, that they couldn't afford to make angry.

Thankfully, they were easy to please, and somewhat... simple minded.

"Checkin' in!" Negan's shout was loud and clear, even over the chatter of the many other people.

Ron thumbed his belt, eyes sweeping over the objects that littered the ground, left out for the Saviors to pick over, and see what was to their liking. Nudging what appeared to be a beaten can of beans, he wrinkled his nose, squinting up at the burning summer sun that made the dusty ground crack and crumble with every step.

Days like these were meant to be spent indoors and by a fan, but Ron found that he much preferred being hot than being soaked to the bone with the rain that haunted Virginian summers just as often as the boiling temperatures.

To Ron's left, Junkers, as they were called, huddled in the shadowy alcoves that were built from the ungodly amount of trash that formed walls and homes. They were gaunt and dead looking, mistakable for the walkers that they often modified to be twisted excuses for guard dogs. Yes, the Saviors had benefited much from the Garbage Dwellers.

"Smokes?" Ron asked the small huddled group, and one was pushed forward, to offer Ron a single, half smushed cigarette. Ron took it with a sneer, and the dirt caked man sulked back to his spot in the shade. Ron rubbed the butt of the cigarette off on his shirt before sticking it in his mouth and lighting it.

Yet again, Negan's shout rose above all others.

"I don't want to talk to you, you creepy bitch!" Some turned to survey the scene while others continued in their item picking. It wasn't anything they hadn't seen before, but Ron enjoyed the emotionless gaze that Jadis, the leader, held with Negan. There was something mind numbingly brave about it.

"I want to talk to Rick!"

Jadis stepped aside casually and gestured to her honorable lieutenant, who stood with little to no expression,  
just as his superior did. He just watched Negan's slow approach.

Whatever conversation ensued, Ron had little interest in it and turned to the can that had been at his feet. Except, there was no can, and Ron had sworn no one had come close enough to take his newfound PERSONAL food. A quick look around and he spotted it, at least 4 feet from where it'd originally rested.

Ron's interest was peaked, and his hunch verified as he took a step forward, and the can shot away from him, tugged along by a now visible strand of fishing twine.

Curiosity killed the Cat, but Ron was bent on finding out exactly why someone was fishing for Saviors. Once the can flew into the darkness of an alcove, Ron stood still, arms crossed in what he hoped was firm authority. Inside, someone made kissy noises, as if beckoning an animal. Ron could just make out the shape of someone small hunched down, patting the ground in an effort to convince him to sit.

"Come out," Ron demanded, but it was only a moment later that someone pushed him inside, and the soft rot of the old door shut behind them. A flashlight flicked on, and Ron could see now, despite his panic at being trapped, that a small girl with matted blond hair was waving the can in his face. He only had time to process the black of her teeth and joy in her eyes before he was pushed flat on his back by someone who looked like she could be her older sister.

"CAN THIEF!" She hissed through teeth as nasty as her possible sister's, wilder hair framing her face like a lion's mane.

"No!" Ron sputtered back, scrabbling for his belt, where he found his knife to be missing.

"Looking?" The girl asked, quieter this time, pressing the cold blade to the plump of Ron's cheek. "Look no further, I take."

"Well, 'give back'!" Ron replied, and the creepy girl laughed, dropping the knife as she leaned back on her heels, bouncing on the balls of her feet to balance herself.

"Funny," she commented between snorts, but when Ron's fingers inched for the weapon, the girl's mood changed in a heartbeat, as it'd done before. She slapped Ron's hand away, calling him a variety of insults that the little girl parroted happily.

"No, it's not funny!" Ron argued, but it was useless, both girls were chattering in their odd formation of words to form choppy, illiterate sentences, and Ron was having a hard time keeping up.

"What is name?" The smaller girl chattered, cheeks rosy with her apparent joy at having succeeded in trapping Ron.

"MIKEY!" Ron howled for his partner, his buddy in the buddy system, and both girl's brows knit at the yelling.

"Is lying," The older girl cooed, looking down at the knife where Ron had carved his name into the handle. "Can-boy is lying."

"MIKEY!" Ron yelled once more, and his dark haired friend opened the door, politely peeking his head in to survey the scene.

"Oh," He commented, but Ron was scrambling to his feet while the two Junker kids were distracted, and he bolted for his friend, pushing his way back out into the well lit, dirt courtyard. Mikey simply shut the door again, leaving to two girls to toy with the new 'Ron' knife.

"What was that about?" Mikey asked in a hushed tone, eyes wide with concern as Ron panted, hands on his knees.

"These people are freaks," was all the blond could manage, swallowing thickly as he eyed the now closed door that stood out against the tin walls that formed the small hut.

"Agreed," muttered Mikey. "Negan finished talking, we're packing up."

"What went down?" Ron asked curiously, shaking only slightly as he straightened, not daring to turn his back to the hut.

"Apparently, that Rick guy fucked up somehow. He was sending people out to spy or some stupid shit. Had to be punished."

Ron raised his brows, turning to peer over his shoulder just in time to see a few Saviors loading someone into the truck.

"They took his son, or at least, I think he's his son. They look a bit alike, but it's hard to tell. He's missing one of his eyes. It's pretty fresh looking, too," He shook his head, "Gross."

Ron followed the many others that were loading into trucks and mounting bikes, not daring to look back at the two girls as they exited the shack, eyeing him carefully.

Ron caught sight of Rick through the crowd, sporting a bloody nose and a sour expression. No one looked pleased. Slowly, he climbed into the cabin of one of the carry-on trucks with Mikey, with nothing to show for the very strange visit to Junk Yard. 

 

...

 

Walking the halls of the Savior's compound was perhaps one of Ron's favorite things to do in his spare time. The quietness of the vacant halls was calming, the silence under the tapping of his shoes on the tile seemed to be a symphony that eased his nerves. Only, now it was loud with echoing screams.

Ron slid down the wall and into a sitting position, clamping his hands over his ears in an effort to block out the yelling, but it was useless.

Rick's son's cell was just down the hall, but it sounded as if he was next to Ron, howling and crying out in the pain that was being inflicted on him by Negan and a few others in an effort to wring answers and secrets from him.

Only when the cries stopped abruptly did Ron raise his head and survey the hall as a man exited the cell room, rubbing his hands free of blood onto his pants after flicking most of the crimson liquid to the floor in fat droplets. Negan followed after him, looking displeased. The boy mustn't have told him anything valuable.

Upon being shouted at by Negan in his usual loud manner, Ron stood to attention, eyes laid upon an invisible 180-degree angle so he could avoid looking his superior in the eyes.

"What's your name?" Negan barked with the ghost of a laugh at how dumb the blond boy looked, standing stiff as a board.

"Negan, Sir-"

"No, No, No, Your real name, kiddo. What do people call you?" Negan was in front of him now, waving the other man ahead as if to say he'd catch up later.

"R-Ron." The words tumbled out as if pushed, but Negan simply bared his teeth in that shit eating smile that Ron knew too well.

"You're a kid, right? 15, give or take?"

Ron didn't know if he should be offended because he was 17, or glad because Negan thought him to be younger and more innocent, but he didn't have time to dwell on it because Negan was suddenly steering him back down the hall with one large shovel-like hand gripping his shoulder.

"Kids are comfortable around other kids, right? They feel safer?"

Ron opened his mouth to answer, to plead that he wasn't good with social situations involving bonding, let along over age, but he didn't speak, because Negan was plowing on with his hypothesis.

"Think you can worm some shit out of this fucker? He's getting on my NERVES!" He yelled the last sentence, directing it at the door, or rather who was behind it, but there was no response from inside.

"I-" Ron stuttered. "I don't know what-" Yet again, Negan spoke over him. "You're, er... What's her face- Jessie! Jessie, my beautiful wife Jessie. You're her son, right?"

Ron's mouth felt stuffed with cotton balls, but he nodded nevertheless.

"Alright, Ronny- I can call you Ronny, right? Ronny, if you do this, I'll make sure both you and your mom- Any siblings?"

"S... Sam."

"AND Sam, I'll make sure you get a bit of extra good treatment. Little food here and there, more blankets, maybe even more Mommy time! How's that sound?"

Ron nodded, one because the deal didn't sound half bad, and two because he felt as if he didn't have much of a choice. This was Negan, after all.

"Good boy!" Negan ruffled his already untidy hair and set to work unlocking the door. Nervousness crept up Ron Anderson's spine.


	2. Chapter 2

Ron found it hard to see in the tiny 8 by 8 cell, despite the tiny light bulb that hung from the ceiling. Of course, it wasn't actually a cell. The walls were concrete, sure, but it was easy to spot the mold spots where shelves had once been hung but had been long since removed, and the floor was scraped free of cheap lanolin tile. This left the small room with concrete walls and floors, and an old fashion pipe heater that no one was interested in moving. It hadn't taken much to find a heavy, lockable door and handcuffs. The closet remodeling had been done with many unlivable rooms in the Savior compound, so there was more than enough room for prisoners.

The only recent change to the cell was the occupant.

The boy was as disgusting as the other Junkers, with hair matted with dirt, blood, and foliage. His clothes were removed like all prisoners' were, but he was sure they had been just as disgusting. Scars littered his body just under they layer of grime and dirt; over his chest and arms, and Ron was having a hard time battling his own curiosity as his eyes practically drank in the sight of the wild boy.

The oddest part about the stranger was his stillness. For a moment, Ron feared he was dead or was trapping Ron to drag him in closer before delivering a killing blow.

A sigh of relief shook Ron when he saw the shaky rise and fall of uneven breaths and the tremor of sobs. Of course, he was hiding his face, he'd just been beaten black and blue.

"What's your name?" Ron asked, but he was met with more silence. He decided to go about a more demanding approach and stood himself tall as he ordered the Junker look him in the eye. Only then, after yielding no response, Ron impulsively reached forward, grabbing a handful of the Junk Yard boy's hair, and gripped hard, pulling upward.

The sight scared Ron more than anything he'd seen that day, and he dropped his fistful of bangs quickly, other hand flying to his mouth. The boy's eye, that had been mostly scabbed over before his truck ride to the Sanctuary, was now a bloody, clotted mess, and much deeper than before. The sticky fingerprints around the open wound gave enough evidence to the form of torture that had been used, and in the moment that the boy's head stayed upright, Ron could just see the gouging hole where a man's thumb had been pressed deep into the reopened laceration.

 

...

 

Being urged back to the cell every day hadn't been part of Ron's plans when he'd agreed to talk to the Junker, but he quickly found he didn't have a choice. Negan's offer had been as much as a threat as it had been a reward. Whatever the one-eyed boy knew, it was very important if Negan hadn't killed him yet.

Days went by with Ron visiting long enough to feed the boy, clean the bucket he pissed and shit in, and grill him with questions as well as information about himself.

"I like games," He said from the chair he'd dragged from the hallway and into the cell, watching Rick's son sit on the floor, curtain of hair hiding himself from Ron's prying gaze. "Not kiddie shit like Hide-And-Seek and Tag. I mean like, video games. We have a few counsels here, but they're all in one room, and we are only allowed in there if we help out around..." he trailed off, his rambling drawing to an end as the Junker shifted, scooting closer against the pipe heater he was chained to. The silence didn't last long, though; Ron persisted.

"Do you remember games from when you were little? I do, like the old arcade games, Mr and Miss Pac-man, and-"

The gravelly noise that escaped the Junker's mouth took Ron off guard, and left him staring with his mouth open, trying to puzzle the noise together, and figure out if it had even been English or words at all.

"What?"

"Said," The junker began, and Ron felt his heart drop to his stomach at the hate that boiled in the butchered tone. "shut fuck up."

Ron only stared a moment more before jumping to his feet accusingly.

"Screw you, man! You think this is fun for me? Talking to a smelly asshole for hours on end, wondering if he's mute or deaf? Not to mention cleaning out THAT," he gestured to the piss bucket. "And your face is bad enough to look at! I didn't think I was squeamish before, but now-!"

"SHUT FUCK UP!" The boy yelled, yanking the cuffs taught as he jerked forward to get at Ron. The pipe groaned in protest but showed no other signs of separating from the wall.

"You shut the fuck up! I'm sick of you illiterate bastards and your idiotic-"

"WHAT WANT?"

Ron faulted at the new set of words, and the boy plowed on, single blue eye wide with anger and exasperation.

"What WANT? Weapons? Food? Woman? Negan's taken ALL."

Ron breathed heavily from the yelling, and slowly sat back down in his chair, hands on his knees. "What's your name?"

The boy scoffed, easing backward as well, shaking his head.

"That's it? You speak only to bitch and then go back to moping." A reply didn't come. Ron left the cell for the day.

...

And he didn't come back for a few days. He sent Mikey to empty and clean the bucket as well as feed the Junker, but Ron knew he would have to do the job himself again, sooner or later.

It was just that he couldn't stop thinking about what the long haired boy had said. Sure, the Saviors took food, and without weapons, people would die, but the people that came from Junk Yard to live at the Sanctuary had come willingly, hadn't they?

The question nagged at him, and he found it hard to focus on the jobs he was doing for Mikey, in return for caring for the nameless Junker.

"Jesus christ-" Sophia yelped when Ron dropped a box of nails as he bumped into her on the way to deliver them to Sector B-Warehouse 3.

"Sorry, Sorry-" he said instantly, falling to his knees to begin picking them up when he saw the looks on the superior's faces, but she came to his aid. The superiors moved on.

"What's wrong with you?" She hissed softly, large brown eyes searching his face for clues to what was on his mind.

"Nothing, just thinkin'."

Sophia wasn't buying it though, and he hand found his shoulder. "Is this about the Junker boy?"

"What? How did you-"

She cracked a smile, "You talk nonstop about him, Ron.

"Actually, I was thinking..." She lowered he voice even more. "What if we snuck him out and, you know, let him shower and eat a real meal? Not just dry granola bars and room temperature water."

"Are you stupid?" Ron hissed, hands freezing over the nails.

"Maybe," she shrugged, dumping a handful of the nails into the cardboard box. "We won't get caught. They've got bigger problems, I hear. The left wing's fencing went down last night. Most of the guards are busy guarding and patching it up. No one's going to be on the south-wing prison hall."

Ron sat up slightly to get a better look at her, gawking. "Soph, how long have you been planning this?"

Sophia simply laughed, "Stayed up all night. You in?"

 

...

 

The key, which had been previously acquired when Negan had asked Ron to watch the Junker, slid into the lock with ease, and with a nod from Sophia, Ron unlocked the door and opened it.

If the boy was surprised, he didn't show it until the cuffs were off, and Ron was pretty sure the only thing keeping him from jacking him up against the wall was the shock.

"We're getting you cleaned up, but you have to be super quiet," Sophia whispered softly and the Junker nodded quickly, complying much easier with Sophia than he ever had Ron, which caused the blond to roll his eyes and hand off the t-shirt and sweatpants with a scowl on his face.

"Put these on," He muttered, checking the hall again for the 5th time in 15 seconds. "No one can see you, got it? If they do, we're all dead. I can't believe we're risking our asses for-"

"I know," Sophia beamed, busy ushering the Junker to go faster by pulling the t-shirt down over his head. "Isn't it exciting?"

"Yeah, that's a word."

The walk back to Sophia's room felt as if it took a million years, but they made it, and locked the door tightly behind them to keep any surprise visitors from just coming in.

"There," Sophia breathed a shuttering sigh of relief as she hung stepped away from the door. "God, that adrenaline-"

"I know," Ron said, taking a seat at her tiny dining table. Sophia lived alone, having lost all of her family when the infection began. Ron had known her since they were young, 12 or 13, since they had become Saviors. "I haven't felt like that since..."

"Since my last walker," She breathed out happily. "Wow..."

The next voice brought them back to attention when the Junker spoke. "Walkers nothing," He said in that scratchy voice, blue eye flitting between the two.

Sophia stuttered, but Ron jutted in, asking his incessant question yet again, but it was barely out of his mouth before he answer came ready.

"What is your-"

"Carl," The Junker said, emotionlessly, eye locking with Ron's brown pair. The silence in the room was suffocating, and Ron just stared back before gesturing half-heartedly towards Sophia's bathroom. The Junker, now known as Carl, didn't need a verbal explanation. He simply walked past Ron and Sophia, closing the bathroom door behind him.

 

...

 

When the bathroom door opened again, Ron was almost certain that the Junker was an entirely new person. With the dirt washed from his body, Carl's freckles were visible. They speckled his body like rogue stars, over his nose and cheeks, up and down his arms, and just peeking out from under his collar.

"Do you want me to fix your hair?" Sophia asked, looking at the matted mess that was unable to be detangled by just soap and water. When Carl slowly nodded, Soph stood, making her way to her bedside to search her drawers for a sturdy enough comb.

"You're Rick's son," Ron commented, and when Carl didn't respond, he pressed on. "How old are you?"

"Don't know."

"Well, how old were you when this all started?"

The boy took a moment to think, as if counting, "11."

"So," Ron said, working some quick addition. "Depending on what day you were born, you're either 15 or 16-"

"16," Carl agreed softly. "Yes."

The hallway door unlocked before anyone could react, and once it opened, Carl was jumping into action. Mikey didn't expect to see the prisoner inside his friend's room, let alone lunging at him, but he wasn't given the opportunity to question it, seeing as the junker had grabbed him by the collar and head butt him in the nose.

"FUCK," Mikey howled in pain as he was shoved to the floor. Ron had enough sense to shut the door quickly before anyone heard.

It took all of Ron and Sophia's strength to pull the skittish Junker off of their friend, considering that Carl was hell bent on choking his witness to death.

"Get OFF, Carl!" Sophia and Ron gave one last heave and the boys broke apart, both breathing heavily for two different reasons.

"What the hell is he doing out of his cell!?" Mikey hissed through clenched teeth when he caught his breath, flat on his back, rubbing at his throat.

"He was getting a shower," Ron sighed, watching Sophia sit Carl down on her bed forcefully, retrieving the comb she'd found once more. The comb's teeth caught in his hair the moment it met the damp rat's nest, yet slowly but surely, she began to work it through.

The Savior trio sat quietly before Mikey burst out again, "Incredible work ethic, Ron Anderson. Absolutely incredible. You can clean the fucker and feed his sorry ass but cleaning out his piss bucket? Not good enough?"

"Shut the hell up, Mikey," Ron said dully, eyes upon Carl, who for the first time since his arrival, appeared calm.

"Just shut up."


	3. Chapter 3

"You've got to go back soon," Ron mumbled from his spot in Sophia's musty armchair. "We've got to get a bit of sleep before First-Call, or we'll be dead on our feet before lunch."

Carl's hair was much longer now that it was untangled, clean, and soft with the strawberry shampoo that Sophia was so fond of. He was sat on the floor, running his hands through his brown locks continuously, eyes fixed on Ron in an unblinking way.

"Do you fuckin' need somethin'?" Ron snapped, thumbing the bridge of his nose. "Eye drops, maybe?"

"Leave him alone," Sophia said, standing over her tiny gas stove, making a horrible attempt at boiling water for tea.

Carl responded to neither of them. Instead, he crossed his arms in front of his chest, eyebrows raised. "Wants what?"

"Not this shit again," Mikey groaned, leaning aginst the door, nursing his battle wounds.

"Wants what?! Debts get you killed," The Junker continued, cocking his head at Ron expectantly. "Don't want to owe nothing."

"What, like 'An eye for an eye' type bullshit?" Mikey cut in, and two and a half pairs of eyes found him. "Sorry."

"What WANT?!" Carl burst out once more, whipping back around to glare at Ron again. "Have nothing! What want? Work? Sex?"

"WOAH!" The saviors shouted in unison, all attention on the Junker again. "None of that, take it down a notch."

"Yeah," Mikey nodded quickly. "You're up here," He held his hand above his head. "You need to bring it way-the-fuck down here," He lowered it to his knee.

But Carl was growing exasperated and somewhat panicked. He grabbed fistfuls of his now-clean hair, yanking in anger. "What want?! What want?!"

"For you to chill the fuck out, Jesus!"

"We have to take him back. Now." Ron said, standing, but Carl jumped to his feet and into a fighting stance.

Sophia butted between them before anything bad happened. "No, he can't go back, Ron! He's miserable in there!"

"Well, he can't stay here!"

"Sure he can. It's my room, isn't it? I'll house who I please."

It was a bad idea, and Ron knew it would end horribly either for Carl, Sophia, or even himself. He envied Mikey, in the moment; his friend was clear of trouble, having no documented association with the Junker; none that Negan knew of, anyway.

"Please, Ron. We can't let them treat him like that anymore! We gotta do something!"

"Fine," Ron practically spat, gaze set with anger and exasperation. "Fine, he can stay with me. I'm not going to let you risk yourself, alright? I'll wake him up early and get him back to his cell before First-Call."

Ron wasn't exactly pleased with the half-assed plan he had conjured up for the sake of keeping Sophia happy, but it was his job to protect the girl, and allowing the Junker to sleep in her room and potentially get her killed was just not something he could stomach. "You have to watch Sam here, though," He added. "I can't let him sleep next to the enemy."

"He's not the enemy, Ron," Sophia began to argue. "He's not going to hurt anyone-" But Mikey cleared his throat, and Ron had to control his laughter as Mikey gestured to his slightly bloodied nose from taking a header into the floor.

"Alright," Sophia said after a moment, sighing heavily. "He better have not eaten beans, though. I practically needed a gas mask last time."

Carl wrinkled his nose from where he sat, huddled on the floor.

 

...

 

Ron didn't think himself as mean, cold-hearted, or even rude, but almost everyone who met the blond would argue differently. It wasn't as if Ron necessarily HATED Carl; it was simply just that he wasn't fond enough of the Junker to give up his bed and sleep on the floor.

Not to mention, put up with his completely idiotic habits.

"Oh, hell no," Ron said around his toothbrush as Carl tried to strip down completely before tucking into 'bed', which was actually just a single blanket and a stained throw pillow. "Clothes back on or I'm locking you in the bathroom for the night."

Thankfully, Carl began to put his clothes back on, but not before flipping Ron off, and that was just the beginning. Carl was noisy, and would not stop asking the dumbest questions while they lay in their respective resting places, shadowed in darkness.

"How many people here?"

"I don't know, shut up and sleep."

"When go home?"

"I don't fucking know."

"Where is Dad?"

"Shut. Up."

It went on and on for what felt like forever, and when Carl finally did drift off, then came the night terrors. The brunette writhed, he whimpered, and he cried out. Ron lost track of how much time he spent tossing and turning, pillow clenched over his head in a pitiful effort to block out the noise, but it was a while before he sat up, chucking the pillow-in-question at the wailing boy.

Carl jerked into the realm of the conscious and whipped around to gawk at Ron with that one-eyed stare, but something caught the young Savior off guard. Tears streaked the Junker's face like small rivers, only flowing from his singular ice-blue eye. Any insult Ron had prepared died in his throat.

Ron wasn't sure why he did it, but the two boys drifted off once more, both in the same bed. Nightmares sucked, Ron knew full well, and he didn't think he'd be able to get a wink of sleep for the rest of the night knowing that Carl had to face them alone.

Even as the blond closed his eyes, a new fear was gnawing in his stomach;

He didn't want to grow attached to Carl Grimes, but that was straight where he was headed. 

...

 

Bets were placed, people gathered, and drinks were had, but Ron wasn't enjoying it.

He wasn't sure what he'd expected to happen, but it wasn't this. Of course, it'd been weeks since the blond and brunette had fallen asleep at each other's side, and no information was had from the one-eyed Junker since. Negan was bound to have other ideas for what to do with the kid. It was unlike him to just let a prisoner sit and rot. He had people to entertain and a prisoner to break, so why not kill two birds with one stone?

Ron couldn't shake the feeling that Negan was doing this just to play with him; that putting Carl in the walker-pin was meant to be more painful for him to watch than for the Junker to endure.

All that Carl could do was scuttle around the pit, desperately trying to keep out of the Walker's arm's reach. A duck here, a roll there, a dodge, a leap, a shove; it was all in vain. The undead monster just staggered onwards, relentless in its endeavor for food.

It felt as if bile was caught in Ron's chest. He couldn't stand watching, and he couldn't help the shutters that jumped up his spine every time the walker got closer to snatching hold of Carl's hair or scratching his arm.

Sophia's hand clasped Ron's clammy one as they looked onwards with bated breath, silently begging for Negan to call it off, to take pity, but it wasn't in like Negan to do so. It was Carl's actions that brought gasps from lips and silence to the cheers around the warehouse.

Carl Grimes turned sharply to get behind the walker as it slowed, shuffling to find it's prey, and while it's reanimated nervous system was on semi-biotic standby, Carl shoved its chest with the flat of his palm, landing it on it's back before stomping upon its throat with a heavy boot that he'd been given, along with clothes, before being displayed as entertainment in the pit. The beset didn't end there; Carl continued to assault the sprawled walked with the heel of his Alpines. Thick, coagulated blood splattered the pavement as Carl kicked the Dead One's head in and Ron fought the urge to hurl, unable to tear his gaze from the anger-driven boy. Someone's voice cut through the ringing in Ron's ears, and he looked up in time to see Negan's lips moving, eyes trained on him and Sophia.

"Take him."

People were looking around at them, and Mikey stepped closer to his friends, eyes impossibly wide with fear. Carl had fought back. Carl had taken the walker down with his bare hands, and he turned now, head tilted upwards at Negan from where he stood high upon the second story walkway, knuckles white against the railing at he stared back down at the Junker boy.

"FUCK YOU!" Carl yelled, raising his hand to mock the leading Savior with his middle finger.

"TAKE HIM!" Negan shouted over him, new rage burning behind his eyes.

Sophia was the first to leap into action, reaching into the pit, grasping Carl's hand to help haul him up. Together, the three left the warehouse with Mikey hot on their heels, deafening silence to their backs.

 

...

 

"Where are we going?" Mikey asked, voice raw with emotion.

"Back to the cell, where do you think?" The words had barely left Ron's mouth before Sophia stopped dead in her tracks, grip on Carl's jacket catching tight to halt the quartet from taking a left down the South Wing.

"Like hell we are," She said, voice dangerously low. "What just happened back there, that was the spark of a rebellion. Carl'll be dead before sun-up."

Ron fought the tightness in his chest and the ache in his throat as he argued, ignoring the blue-eyed boy's scoff. "So will we if we don't get him back in his fucking cell."

"You and I both know it's not about us anymore, Ron," Mikey stepped forward, and Ron's gaze fell on the pudgy boy with exasperation written all over his face.

"Of course it is!" He looked from Mikey to Sophia, and then to Carl, who was staring at him with that unreadable expression painted across his face. Ron couldn't hold his gaze as guilt gnawed at his gut, and his eyes fell to his sweatshirt, where the letter A spray painted across his chest.

"W... Where do you even plan on going?" Ron spat bitterly, but Carl was quick to answer.

"Kingdom."

The Savior's eyes found the long-haired boy's, eyebrows raised.

"Have friends that help," He said with a brisk nod, voice scratching with lack of sleep.

"So, it's true," Mikey whispered even lower, blinking back his confusion and possible tears. "The Kingdom is aginst us."

The last thing any of them expected was for Carl Grimes to smile, given the circumstances, but the grin spread quickly and did well to make fear prick the back of Ron's neck.

"We're all aginst you," Carl said, jerking his sleeve free from Sophia's grip, backing away as he spread his arms casually as if inviting them along. "Fight with us, die with them, you pick." He turned, breaking into a sprint down the hall, looking for the nearest exit that wasn't being guarded.

Mikey and Sophia exchanged glances, and Ron gawked, deathly pale as his friends took off after him.

There was no time for well-thought-out decisions. Ron swallowed thickly, taking his first step after Carl Grimes and away from the Saviors, his brother, and his mother.

For them to survive, they'd have to break away from Negan before a war broke out, and Ron realized as he picked up speed to catch up with his friends, he had to make the first move for them.


	4. Chapter 4

Ron didn't know exactly how long they'd been walking, but the orange light that was peeking through the branches was making his eyes ache and his head pound with an oncoming headache. It had been a very long time since he'd been outside the walls without more than 15 people backing him at once, and he knew it was the same for both Mikey and Sophia. The fear that'd overcome their faces after they'd stopped sprinting from the Sanctuary had confused Carl at first, but upon explaining, Ron had found great distaste in the way that Carl looked them up and down, a playful sneer on his lips.

Even now, the Junker walked with such confidence, it made him sort of sick to watch, but he found him focused on not much else but the brunette's graceful gate.

Ron was somewhat clumsy compared to Carl; his boots seemed to always snap twigs, crunch leaves and tread pine cones, no matter how careful he was. Every time Carl shushed him, hate for the boy bubbled in his gut, despite knowing that he was right.

He wasn't the only one, though. Mikey had fallen twice since their departure, and Sophia jumped at every noise, brandishing her knife wildly.

"We should stop soon," Mikey said, slowing his pace, hands braced at his sides.

"Already?" Carl stopped as well, cocking a brow at the trio with what was obvious annoyance.

"It's been hours now," Sophia countered. "You say we'll find water soon, but we've been going downhill forever. If there's water, where is it?"

Carl wiped his brow with a heavy sigh before gesturing to left, or rather, their right. "Water that way, been following creek for half mile now."

Ron's mouth fell open, "There's been water, and you didn't say anything?" but they were all rushing in the direction Carl had pointed, sand paper tounges screaming for the promise of hydration.

Sure enough, 50 or so paces away from their original path of travel, there was a creek that eased over flat stones, lacking in large amounts of silt.

"Is it safe?" Sophia asked as Mikey fell to his knees, scooping up handfuls of water at a time, slurping it up from his cupped hands.

"We find out," Carl laughed at Mikey, and Ron and Sophia kneeled, copying their friend without any more question. "Hurry up," Carl added, crossing his arms. "We move 2 more miles before dark."

Ron choked on his mouthful of cool water, sitting up to glare at Carl again. "No," He sputtered out, after a moment, "No, we should stay here and rest. We are running on fumes now."

Carl looked as if he was going to argue, but Sophia and Mikey were already agreeing with Ron, adding other pros to staying put.

"We can sleep over there by that tree with the low branches," Sophia said, gesturing a particularly small pine tree. "That way, if a hoard comes through, we could climb it and stay quiet."

"And we can bathe and clean our clothes," Mikey added, and Carl could only sigh and nod. They had decent points to staying put. Ron went back to drinking his fill of the water, but before he could settle back on the bank, he caught sight of Carl removing his clothes.

"W-What are you doing?" Ron asked, and Carl looked up, a laugh escaping his lips.

"What? Savior-pussy take bath with clothes on?"

Ron stared. The junker asshole had taken one step outside the Savior walls and had become a cocky asshole with an affinity for sarcasm, and worst of all, Mikey and Sophia laughed. Ron didn't have time to get TOO angry though or snap back, for that matter, because Carl was shucking down his pants and boxers with no hesitation, and Ron couldn't keep his eyes off of the brunette if his life depended on it.

Mikey, on the other hand, had no problem ignoring the awkward situation, but Sophia continued to steal glances at the tan boy as he waded into the knee-deep stream and sat on the riverbed, wallowing in the water.

Ron splashed his face with the cool water, avoiding eye contact with any of his friends, or Carl.

 

...

 

Soon enough, Sophia and Mikey stripped down to their underwear, following Carl's lead in floating in the water to remove the dirt and sweat from their bodies, washing their clothes as well, and allowing the dirt to flow downstream.

Ron was the only one left on dry land.

He was wary of getting undressed, disliking feeling exposed, especially outside the walls. The fear that walkers could stumble through at any moment plagued his mind, and Ron couldn't help that his eyes darted around the tree line every chance he had. He also couldn't help that after every survey of the area he did, his eyes always wandered back to and settled upon Carl Grimes.

The boy had soaked his hair and slicked it back out of his face so he could wash dirt from it, but Ron knew that the grime would return before the night was up. It was practically magnetic, sticking to Carl like glue. The water was relatively clear, the bed of the stream being mostly rock in the area, so there was not a lot of dirt to muddy the water. This allowed not much to be left to Ron's imagination, Carl's naked body only being veiled by the movement of the downstream flow.

Ron had been so caught up in his thoughts, that he didn't notice Carl wade over to him until the Junker was directly in front of him, settled on the shallow shore, a smirk plastered on his face like a mask. The blond was yanked from his reverie by words that he simply hadn't expected to hear.

"Want to fuck?" 

...

Negan kneeled to the ground, removing one of his gloves before running the pads of his fingers over the dried, bloody footprint that was starkly brown against the pavement. His thumb smeared a clump of the rotten flesh that had been not quite dry yet, and he rubbed the sickening residue between his thumb and forefinger, eyes narrowed in distaste.

"Do we still have the clothes that the fucker was wearing before?" He asked his lieutenant, cold eyes meeting the gaze of the bald man with the mustache.

"Yes," The man replied, tone steady and careful as if he was afraid that Negan would snap like a wild animal if tempered with.

Negan smiled, eyebrows raised slightly before he stood with a grunt, wiping the blood on his fingers off onto his lieutenant's jacket, rather than his own. "Then what are we doing, standing around with our dicks in our hands?"

The bald man, known as Simon, blinked as he coughed slightly, "Sir?"

"Go on," Negan said, the playful smile ever present. "Get the fucking dogs."

 

...

 

Ron wasn't completely sure he'd heard Carl correctly, and a small, inexplicable laugh escaped him, sounding more like he was choking than anything else. He cleared his throat, and said, "What?" a slight tremor in his voice.

Carl tilted his head and cocked a brow, as if getting annoyed with Ron's obliviousness, and dawning comprehension eased across Ron's face and through his gut as he realized he had, in fact, heard the brunette right.

"You stare. Want to fuck?" Carl repeated, and Ron eased back and away from the bank, shaking his head as he tried to ignore the sudden and hysterical laughter that Mikey was doing little to stifle.

"I- No. No, I don't want to- to fuck." Ron decided the best plan of action was to act angry and offended, and he pulled his face into someone he hoped resembled repulsion rather than embarrassment at being caught looking at the nude boy.

It was obvious that Carl's ego had taken a bit of a beating, and his upper lip curled, the bridge of his nose pulling in silent, apoplectic disdain.

Ron didn't take much note and pushed the situation. "I'm not fucking gay," He spat. "I'm not like that."

He sure took notice now, though. Carl's jaw was grit as he glowered, pushing back into the deeper shallows of the stream, treading water with only his eyes above the water, still fixated on the blond. His hair floated around him as he began to sulk.

Mikey snickered, running his wet hands through his hair. "Come on, Ron. You know how Junkers are; no shame, for nothin'."

Sophia was silent with disapproval, occupying herself with washing her clothes. "Sun will be setting soon. We should set up before it's too dark to see," She changed the subject, and Ron swallowed thickly, nodding in agreement.

Even as he busied himself with needlessly helping his friend's finish wringing out their clothes, he could feel Carl Grimes' scrutiny boring into the back of his skull.

...

The hardest part about sleeping outside, on the bare ground, was that it got quite chilly at night. Sure, the sanctuary wasn't the warmest, but there was always a bed to sleep on, and plenty of blankets to go around. Outside, in the middle of no where, all the kids had to warm themselves was each other and their worn jackets, and Ron thought he would rather freeze to death than spoon up to Carl Grimes for body heat, especially after the previous, awkward conversation.

This meant that Ron was kept awake by his own shivers though, and he resigned to staring up at the sky through the gaps in the pine branches. Stars winked back at him, but Ron found himself longing for the tell-tale movement of a plane in the crisp, night air, or the blinking of a cell tower in the distance. He missed those little things, and he clung to the memories he had of the everyday normalcies he remembered from when he was younger, but were obsolete now.

The roar of electricity was absent, and the only noises were Mikey's even snores and the chirps of crickets and frogs. The idea of frogs turned his stomach a bit as he recalled their amphibious meal. Carl had simply caught a few of the larger pond dwellers and the 4 of them cooked them over a small, feeble fire that Sophia had somehow managed to coax into existence with the help of Ron's lighter. How the damp pine sticks had lit, he hadn't the slightest clue, but he couldn't help but be thankful for the meal, despite the odd taste and texture of it.

"Lips blue."

Carl's unexpected voice made Ron jump violently, and he groaned to himself, pawing at his eyes in exasperation.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

"You are cold. Lips blue. Will get sick," Carl ignored the question, hovering over Ron with true concern in his ocean-blue eyes.

"Go to sleep, Carl-" Ron began, but Carl scooted closer until their sides were touching, and laid down. Ron froze, jaw set in embarrassment.

"I... I'm not cold."

"Okay," Carl said, but he didn't move. Ron didn't say anything for at least 10 minutes, or maybe it was less, and simply felt like an eternity with the Junker boy's skin touching his.

"Carl."

"Yes?"

"You have to move back over before morning."

Carl simply nodded, eyes closed as he laid on his back, and slowly, Ron closed his browns as well, reasoning with himself that he was cold, and warmth was impertinent to survival.


	5. Chapter 5

Movement beside him was what roused Ron Anderson from his light sleep, and he opened his eyes to see Carl shuffling about. It was still quite dark outside; the sun just barely starting to make the clouds glow with morning light, and Ron could feel that his hair was heavy with the dew that usually covered the forest floor.

He watched Carl silently, unsure if he wanted it to be known that he was awake yet or not, but he was grateful for the Junker's consideration. He wasn't sure how he would have explained the two boys cuddling to his friends, no matter the true reasoning.

"Carl," Ron said softly, careful not to wake Sophia or Mikey, and the one eyed boy looked over his shoulder at the blond.  
"I'm sorry for snapping at you yesterday."

Carl laughed lightly and shook his head, turning his attention back to cooking, yet another frog over a small flame that he was feeding with pine needles.

"I'm serious, I just... It freaked me out."

"Don't worry. First time is scary," Carl replied with humor still on his tongue, and Ron's brows knit.

"What? No-"

"Don't worry, Virgin-Boy. Secret safe with me."

Ron rolled over with a glower. Carl was getting more obnoxious by the second. 

...

"Are you alright?"

Sophia's hand eased over Ron's shoulder, and he nodded, attempting to scrub dirt out from under his fingernails, eyes glazed over in thought.

"Carl didn't mean anything by what he said. It's different in Junkyard, we both know that. It's not the same for them."

Ron knew full well. Junkyard morals were somewhat warped by time and isolation. They believed in sharing everything, whether be food, shelter, or lovers. They weren't very materialistic when it came to "possessions".

"Honestly," Sophia said, lowering her voice, stones crunching under her as she sat beside Ron on the bank. "I think... you should give it a shot."

Ron's head shot up in horror, and he stared at her. "Soph, I'm not gay."

"I'm not saying you are," The girl argued, putting her hands up for verbal peace. "I'm just... Well, we don't have many options anymore. You and I didn't work out..."

Ron swallowed thickly, a sour taste on the back of his tongue. He'd really tried with Sophia, but it just hadn't been like he'd imagined. He couldn't kiss her with passion or bring himself to have sex, or anything romantic, for that matter. Now, he could see what she was getting at, and he didn't like it at all.

"Just because- because I couldn't do those things- it doesn't mean I like boys-"

"Ron," Sophia interrupted him. "I woke up in the middle of the night."

Ron's face went slack, and he looked away, his ears and the back of his neck warm with embarrassment.

"I'm... I'm just saying, that it might be good for you experiment. If you really don't like sex or kissing even, then that's fine, but I want you to live to the fullest. Try things, Ron. Please."

The blond continued to clean his hands in the chilled water of the stream. Sophia stood, and left him to it.

...

 

"Shut up, listen," Carl gasped out, and the 4 kids crouched, ears straining for the noise that Carl had sworn he'd heard; a bark. Ron's breath was loud in his ears, and he could hear his pulse through the silence -- but no barking. He almost stood, mouth opening to mock their own paranoia, but the sound of a twig snapping had them still as stones once more. Before them, a dog watched them from the brush, wide yellow eyes shining in the shade, it's nostrils flaring in search for the scent that its prey was shrouded in.

Slowly, Ron raised his hand to beckon the canine closer, palm up in gentle, coaxing peace. His boots slid across the pine needles noiselessly, and he inched closer, recognizing the tags around its neck. It was neon orange, obviously Negan's, but he needed to get a good look at the tag's number to know what the dog's actual purpose was.

He didn't get the chance.

The German shepherd's shoulder twitched as it sniffed his outstretched fingertips and it was then that Ron realized his mistake as the dog lunged with barred, snapping teeth. Ron fell back but the dog's jaw locked around his palm and then released, barking madly. Before it could rip into Ron anymore, Carl was on top of it, and he sunk his blade deep into the brown and black pelt.

Ron was overcome with nausea at the noises the dog made in its last moments, writhing in Carl's strong arms, but the blood that was streaming steadily down his arm reminded him that it was necessary and that his survival had depended on killing the dog before it killed him. It would have gone for his throat next, but it didn't stop him from feeling guilty.

The dog stopped moving after a few moments, Carl clutching it close to his chest, eyes glazed over with what had to be regret, but the emotion was gone before Ron could focus his stinging eyes, and the brunette dropped the corpse with a dull thud. Mikey helped Ron scramble to his feet, but they didn't dare raise their voices above a whisper.

"Run," Sophia hissed softly, and they were off, belting through the trees and over the stream. Plants clawed at their pants, but the now loud, incessant barking that was close behind them encouraged them to go faster. Adrenalin pumped through their bodies, instinct screaming at them to run faster, to not care if they left each other behind in the race for survival, but no one abandoned another, no matter how dire the circumstances.

Ron's sneaker caught on a root and the wind was knocked from his lungs as he tumbled to the ground, but large hands were helping him up as soon as he hit the forest floor, and Carl's voice rang out, loud and clear. "Go, we head them off!"

"What?" Ron sputtered, vision swimming as Carl tugged him along, easing back into their impossible run as Sophia and Mikey sprinted away from them, taking the order without question

"They want me, my scent," Carl huffed out in between breaths, eye searching for their path of travel. "You smell of me."

A lump formed in Ron's throat, and he squeezed Carl's hand tightly with his uninjured one.

 

Their feet pounded against the dirt, and only when the ground under them gave way to softer swamp land did Carl force them to a stop, falling to scoop up handfuls of the sticky mud. Ron followed his lead, panting heavily as they scrambled to cover each other in the greenish-brown, watery clay. Closing his eyes, Ron felt Carl's hands smear the mire over his face, both desperate to camouflage the scent that the dogs were most obviously following. Ron daubed another handful over Carl's chest, ignoring the stinging of his injury as the mud burned at the bite.

"Hurry," Carl said, his breath hot on Ron's face as he quickly finished their makeshift patch job, both standing once more, now caked in dirt, taking off like spooked animals for the second time that day. 

...

"Lay down," Carl demanded, and Ron ceased his pacing, arms folded over his chest. "Serious," Carl said, running a hand through his hair wryly.

"I'm worried about them," Ron's voice cracked, "They could be dead, and those dogs- they could still be after us."

"Aren't," the Junker argued, shaking his head. "Your friends are fine. Dogs lost scent. Lay down. Sleep."

The calm in Carl's voice was somewhat soothing to hear and the sureness in his tone was convincing. Ron sat on the floor.

The barn they'd come across was much warmer than the open air, warm enough for them to remove their jackets to use as pillows. Ron had had hope for the hay bails up in the loft, but those had long since been rancid with mold and mildew.

Though they'd fallen into silence, Ron still felt open conversation in the air, and he changed the subject after a few minutes of listening to the soft drizzle of rain on the tin roof.

"How long have you been part of Junkyard?"

Carl's brows knit in thought, "Years. Was on own with Dad long while, then found Junkyard."

"Why do you speak like that?" Ron asked, shaking his head slightly as he laid his head down on his folded sweatshirt.

"Everyone does," was the reply. "Just how it is."

Ron looked up into the rafters at the various nests, wondering if any were occupied. "I guess."

"Rest. Tomorrow, we find others, then go to Kingdom," Carl said with a small sigh as he laid down, a few feet from Ron.

Ron didn't argue. He rolled over and closed his eyes, hoping for a dreamless sleep. 

...

Ron's eyes opened, but it wasn't morning.

It took him a few seconds to gather his thoughts and remember what had woken him; not a dream, but something else.

A noise met his ears, and it was all he could do not to sit up in fear. He'd heard a groan, and for a moment, he was afraid that walkers had heard them from outside the barn, but then Carl spoke.

"Ron..."

The groan had come from Carl. Now, as Ron's eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could see the Junker a few feet away, laying with his back to Ron. A nightmare, surely. Ron sat up slowly, and it then that the situation dawned on him, as Carl moaned again, not in fear of a dream, but in pleasure.

Ron paled, and then reddened as his name met his ears yet again.

Carl Grimes was touching himself.

The thought had Ron's mind swimming. It was scary, new, and, Ron blinked, he couldn't take his eyes off the boy. The brunette was panting, whimpering, arching his back off the floor, and crying out Ron's name.

Ron couldn't see much, but he could see Carl palming himself through his unbuttoned jeans, and that the boy had no idea that he'd been caught in the act of masturbating. As much as the blond disliked to admit it, it was incredibly arousing, and his own jeans were quickly becoming uncomfortable.

This can not be happening.

As Carl's whimpers grew more pitched, and his movements jerkier, Ron slowly laid back down so as not to give himself away. He simply wanted to... watch.

The noises, god, the cries and grunts that Carl was making, all while stuttering out HIS name; Ron's name, it was all so overwhelming and strange, but Ron found himself shivering, the heat between his legs boarder line unbearable.

"M-more," The Junker stuttered before letting out a keening whine that made the hair on the back of Ron's neck stand on end, followed by slow, shuttering breaths.

And then, a choked sob.

Carl sat up, shoulders shaking with what was now uncontrollable tears. Ron shut his eyes, afraid of being caught, but he slowly opened them again, squinting his eyes only a crack, too curious for his own good.

Carl's legs were pulled to his chest, his head buried in his knees so as to stifle his weeping.

Sadness gnawed at Ron, but he closed his eyes once more, jaw grit tight as he willed himself to just fall asleep again.


	6. Chapter 6

Something about the way Carl had cried made Ron aware that the Junker was just as human as anyone else, despite the major differences in how he did things.

The side of Carl that was a stoic fighter, emotionless and somewhat hollow, it scared Ron. It raised questions that Ron wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer to.

Then, the sexual side, the one with the dark eyes that'd asked him for a quick fuck in front of his friends. That side made Ron uncomfortable as if he was under observation, yet deep down, he knew that it was a front to hide something else.

And last, the side from last night. That Carl made Ron's insides twist. He seemed so sad, sobbing after withdrawing his hand from his jeans, shaking horribly.

Ron walked, eyes on the ground they trekked over, trying swallow back the sickly sweet taste that had settled on the back of his tongue.

Who was Carl, really? Was he a heartless killer who hadn't hesitated to end the life of that dog, or was he something more gentle? Someone completely different?

"They wouldn't have gone far," Carl rasped, interrupting Ron's thoughts. "Stayed by the stream, most like-"

"I heard you crying last night," Ron said softly, and Carl froze, arms pinned to his sides at what that insinuated.

Ron regretted the words as soon as they passed his lips, but there was no going back now.

The blue eye found him, burning with what could only be read as anger.

"I won't tell anyone-" Ron began, defensive, but Carl shoved him into the nearest pine, arm pressed against his throat to keep him from moving.

"Saw nothing," Carl growled deeply, but his voice cracked as fresh tears threatening to spill over. Ron coughed wetly, blinking in shock. His spine dug into the rough bark of the tree, and his lungs slowly began to burn for air. Carl eased up the pressure on his jugular, eyes lingering over the blond's every feature, but he didn't release him. "Nothing.."

Ron didn't respond, shivering slowly as his fingernails dug into Carl's flesh, wanting him to get off and let them continue their search for his friends.

"Don't know shit- shit about what's out here," Carl whispered lowly. Standing so close to him, Ron could see the bite marks on his bottom lip. Ron worried his own lip often, especially when something was eating at him. Carl must be experiencing the same thing.

"Don't know what we've been through," but Ron cut him off with a harsh shove.

"Don't fucking touch me," He spat, rubbing at his neck. His wounded hand ached from where he'd used it to push Carl away. "Just help me find my friends, and I won't mention it again. Trust me, I don't want anyone to know what's happened either, you perverted piece of shit."

And he pushed past the Junker, a new stalk in his step. Carl was quickly becoming bad news. 

...

They had been walking in silence for what felt like hours, and the incessant buzzing in Ron's ears was beginning to make his temples ache. Of course, he wouldn't be the one to apologize. He had nothing to be sorry for.

Carl walked with stiff movements, moving somewhat quickly over the expanse of forest that lined the back road they'd been following for miles now. Upon not finding their friends, they'd decided that Mikey and Sophia must have begun to travel to the Kingdom on their own, and the two boys hoped to meet them there, or along the way.

This didn't stop Ron from worrying, though. The air was chilly with the fall weather, and he tugged at his jacket sleeves once more, sniffling. The travel was exhausting, and he yearned desperately for a shower and a warm bed to sleep in.

"How much further?" He queried, eyes not leaving his shoes.

"What?" Carl snapped slightly, mind obviously elsewhere.

"How much further 'till we get to the Kingdom. My feet ache."

The brunette slowed to a stop and looked to be stealing himself to glance at Ron, brows knit slightly.

"What?" Ron asked, stopping as well. "Don't give me that look, we've been walking all damn d-"

For the second time that day, Carl pushed Ron against a tree, but the circumstances were much different now.

Carl's mouth was moving over Ron's with an eager tenderness that took the blond completely off guard. He didn't kiss back, but a noise escaped his mouth that Carl must have accidentally mistaken for approval, because Ron felt the Junker's tongue in his mouth, and his leg slide up. between his legs.

No.

Ron gave a grunt and pushed with all his might, sending Carl staggering backward.

"What's wrong with you!?" Ron growled through grit teeth, lips tingling where Carl's had been previously.

Carl dragged his sleeve over his mouth, eye searching Ron's face for something- anything.

"I'm not LIKE that," Ron spat, but he couldn't deny the tenting of his jeans. He could only walk, shoving his trembling hands into his pockets.

"I'm not."

...  
Finding meals with only the aid of a knife was proving to be more difficult by the hour. The few patches of berries that Ron had come across were proved to be poisonous by Carl when he smushed what Ron had thought to be a wild grape, and a dark, purple juice came spilling out, effectively staining his fingers the same color.

"Not grape," Carl grunted, tossing the smushed berry to the ground in disgust.   
"Pokeberry. See red stem? Makes sick. Not grapes."

Ron's jaw grit as he realized that the Junker was indeed correct. The stems looked nothing like the woody branches of a normal grape vine.

"Over there," Carl gestured off to the right, where he's been previously searching. "Black berries. Sour, not ripe, but safe."

Ron darted for the bush Carl had indicated, not caring about the fruits initial taste, only for some food in his hollow stomach; the ache had started to become unbearable.

Carl and Ron alone picked the entire bush clean. They weren't the best tasting, that was for sure, but they were arguably better than the grasshoppers Carl had begun to eat before coming across the edible vegetation.

The one upside to the hunger was that there was no room to talk about the previous kiss. Ron was perfectly happy to never mention it again, but Carl seemed to always be stealing himself to speak up, to say sorry.

Only, when Carl did speak, it was only about their travel.

"We very close now," He said, sucking the blackberry juice from his thumb. Ron's eyes lingered on the Junker's lips around the digit, hardly listening. "2 mile to DC, 3 mile once inside district."

"How do you know all of this?" Ron asked, tearing his gaze from Carl's distracting mouth, stomach sour despite the recent meal.

"Much travel between Junkyard and Kingdom. Long since involved. Distrust in Negan creates anger, anger creates plans. My dad's probably there."

Ron nodded, taking a shuttering breath. "Will they let me inside willingly?"

"If I say so," Carl answered, setting off into a brisk walk, hands slipping inside his pockets. "Then you will be much welcome."

"I hope you're right." 

...

Mikey hit the pavement with a grunt, hands folded over his head in surrender. He didn't need visual proof to know that Sophia had dropped beside him, neither eager to be pistol whipped by the girl who stood over them. Mikey felt a boot press flat between his shoulder blades, and he grunted in pain.

"You have 10 seconds," she spoke. "Ten seconds to convince me not to put you down." She'd voiced previously her distaste for Saviors, and Sophia and Mikey were most obviously Saviors, with the patches on their coats and the general attitude they carried themselves with, as if unaware that their lives could end in a seconds time.

"What-?! Mikey squealed, panic setting in as the girl began to count down from ten, the smile on her face practically audible.

" -9, 8, 7-"

"Soph, do something!"

"-6, 5, 4-"

Sophia looked up, spitting the only two words she could think of, the only words she could force from her lips and pray that this girl, this angry girl with her braids, fiery eyes, and the handgun, would spare them.

"Carl- Carl Grimes!"

The girl faltered, eyes widening in shock. Slowly, she lowered her gun and stepped off of Mikey.

"Holy fuck," She said, eyes moving from between the two.

"The son of a bitch is alive?"

...

Pins and needles were the only sensations that Ron Anderson could use to describe the feeling that crept up his spine as they entered the vacant, cookie-cutter home, block sub-division that marked the edge of Washington D.C. Long ago, the city borders had been crawling with the recently infected, and it'd taken months for the city to clear out after food became scarce for the walkers. Now, every step seemed to echo off each building, with no other sound to occupy the air.

Ron opened his mouth to speak, but Carl pressed his pointer finger to his lips, shaking his head. Slowly, he pointed down the street, and Ron realized with dawning comprehension that, while they were the only living in the area, they were still not alone.

They, the biters, were lurking in the dark shadows of the homes, rigid as if sleeping like cows, standing upright but completely motionless, heads limp with their chins to their chests. Ron simply watched in horror as Carl continued to walk, wincing every time gravel or glass crunched under his heavy boots.

The dead remained motionless.

The horrible part about their stance was that they didn't move at all. All anatomic signs pointed to them being corpses; the pastiness of their flesh, the open wounds,  
filled with coagulated blood and organ matter, the lack of breathing. They were dead, except Ron knew that one wrong move and their heads would shoot up, and every pair of glazed eyes would lock on the living.

Carl and Ron's lives were being threatened, even here in the supposed quiet of the street.

When the Junker began to gesture with his hands again, Ron paid attention. Carl's hands moved quickly as he pointed between the two of them and at the backyard fence of a house to their left. Ron nodded.

The boys made their way to the fence slowly, desperately trying to quell the noises their boots made underfoot. It was all so tedious, and Ron began to wonder if the walkers would be able to hear his pulse beating so quickly, but he shook it off. There was no time for irrational thinking; not now, not ever.

Carl kneeled, folding his hands together to hoist Ron up. Once Ron was pushed upward, he had a clear view of the yard. and gave Carl a thumbs up, the silent "the coast is clear", before climbing over as soundlessly as he could. Carl was close behind him, struggling only a moment to climb the wooden obstacle, and both landed safely on the spongy soil of the back yard. They repeated the method so many times that Ron began to lose count of how many fences they scaled. It was brilliant, no doubt; traveling the city one enclosed playground or garden at a time.

Carl explained, through whispers, that they were only heading a few blocks into the city, but the kingdom's fencing would be difficult to surpass, no matter how close they were to the territorial line. They would have to sneak in.

"Why?" Ron hissed back, eyebrows raised at the unjust shadiness of it all, peaking over the edge of yet another fence, and climbing over once it proved safe.

"Entering front gate takes longer," Carl said, slowly pulling himself up and over the chain link. "In through chink in armor very quick."

And there was no arguing with that. Carl hadn't led him astray yet, had he?

...

"You'd think they'd guard this more heavily," Ron said, watching as Carl lifted a piece of scrap from its place at the base of the wall, after unscrewing it from the other bits of sheet metal with help from his knife's point.

"Not if don't know about it. In, must find Enid before anyone else." Carl said, gesturing for Ron to crawl through first, which the blond wasn't exactly keen on doing. He didn't budge.

"Is Enid the friend you were talking about?" He asked, and Carl nodded, folding his arms over his chest as he surveyed the blond with a bit of annoyance. "How is she supposed to help us?" Ron looked more concerned than anything, the worry for his brother and mother, as well as Mikey and Sophia, creeping back over him.

"Enid is clever," Carl said. "People listen to her, she has influence. If anyone can rally war, then it is her and my Dad."

It shocked Ron; children were hardly prioritized at the Sanctuary and were expected to be scarcely seen or heard. If Carl was telling the truth, then this Enid girl was something of a War hero among the people of the Kingdom. The idea boggled the young Savior's mind.

"Your dad is here?" The questions were starting to irritate the one-eyed junker, and he shifted from side to side, scanning the vacant street for threats.

"Can this wait? Vulnerable out here; not safe. Inside we talk."

Ron swallowed thickly, nodding with a bit of embarrassment. He simply wanted- no, needed- answers. Slowly, he crouched, shuffling through the 1x2 square hole, hoping a gun wasn't waiting for him on the other side.

There was no gun. In fact, there was no one. Upon standing up, Carl sighed somewhat happily, obviously pleased as he set to work screwing the sheet metal back into place.

"Where are we?" Ron inquired.

"Behind workshop. Walk along wall to motel, and rest there."

"Motel?" Ron bit, brows knitting. He'd never been with the Saviors to the Kingdom. Those trips were reserved for smaller collection-groups. Ron had figured that it meant that the Kingdom's population wasn't nearly as large at the Sanctuary or Junkyard, but he could see now that he was sorely mistaken.

The Kingdom was huge. If the 15-foot wall wasn't enough to clue him in on that fact, the inside view sure was. From what he could see, the Kingdom was formed by blocking off divisions of the city, the largest building inside being an absolutely massive high school. He could see now, from where he stood, the stark color of buses lined up in place of sheet metal, interlocked so that walkers couldn't slip inside. The workshop that Carl had referenced appeared to be a line of houses, garage doors wide open, showing off the different tools and machines inside. Looking closer, he could now see people inside, but no one seemed to pay attention to them (or perhaps they didn't see them at all), and moved about busily, using the various welding tools and saws.

"Ron," Carl said, interrupting the blond's awe-struck daze by placing a hand on his shoulder. The contact seemed to buzz with electricity that only Ron could feel, and he shrugged Carl off. "Come on."

The boys walked the edge of the wall, Carl enthusiastic to sleep in a bed, Ron surveying each building in wonder.

He didn't notice the small motel until they were standing in its long-cleared parking lot. If it hadn't been included inside the Kingdom walls, the blond would have no doubt gave it little to no thought, but its placement inside the territory of Ezekiel proved that it was more than just an abandoned building.

"People room here," Carl answered as if reading his mind. "We sleep in Enid's room. She comes back, everything fine."

But Ron cut in, brows furrowing yet again. "What about Mikey and Sophia?"

Carl looked nervous, to say the least, but he shook his head. "They fine, sure of it. Probably here somewhere. Come on," And Carl tugged him along under the motel awning.

Stopping in front of a door numbered with a rusted number 12 and labeled with a crude drawing of a middle finger as well was a choppy "carl was here", they knocked. Carl didn't look too surprised when there was no answer and pulled up the ratty welcome mat to retrieve the key.

"Breaking and entering," Ron commented.

"Just entering," Carl corrected, opening the door with a roll of his singular eye.

...

The room was completely vacant of anyone else, but Ron could tell that it was well-lived in. A mug of dregs was left on the bedside of a small twin that'd been pushed into the corner of the room. A tiny electric stove was present in the center of the motel room, with a kettle of lukewarm tea resting upon it. A dresser was pressed flat to the wall, drawers open, showing the few articles of clothing inside. The door to the right was ajar, a small shower stall, toilet and chipped sink inside. Despite the grunginess of it all, Ron felt that the room was cozy and welcoming, smelling strongly of the dried flowers that occupied a vase on the sill.

Carl smiled weakly, "I missed her."

"Enid?" Ron asked, and Carl nodded.

"Been best friends for few years." The junker walked forward, turning the stove on to reheat the tea. Outside, It'd started to drizzle, and the quiet taps of raindrops on the tin roof slowly filled the silence.

"Are we just waiting for her now?" There being no chairs in the room, Ron sat on the stiff bed, the box spring groaning under even his weight.

"No sense in leaving," Carl said, opening the kettle to peer inside at the brewing drink. "We nap, she be back." He straightened up with a sigh and stretched before adding, "Going to take shower, you go next."

When Ron nodded his agreement, Carl sauntered for the cramped bathroom and shut the door behind him. The sound of the shower head spitting was audible for only a moment before it sputtered to life fully. Ron laid back, laying across the mattress horizontally, closing his eyes lazily.

When his eyes opened again, it was to the sound of the kettle whistling. He couldn't have been asleep for more than 5 minutes, but he still sat up quickly, rubbing his face with embarrassment. Carl was not yet out of the shower, so it was up to Ron to burn himself on the kettle's handle in an innocent act of carelessness, and dart around the room swearing. Once he found the lone oven mitt settled on top to the clothing hutch, he set the kettle to the side, now careful, before turning down the dial.

Carl slunk out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist, looking quite smug.

"Is something funny?" Ron asked around his pointer finger, sucking the burn in an attempt to ease the pain.

"No," Carl said, and he flopped carelessly onto the bed, resting his hands behind his head.

Ron, biting back an insult, wrung the mitten between his hands, a scowl set deep on his face. It was hard to be angry when the subject of said rage was naked, save for a ratty towel.

"The water is heated here," Carl coaxed, trying to lessen Ron's mood. This did help a bit, but the blond still refused eye contact.

The rain overhead had grown even louder, but Enid was still nowhere to be seen. Complete silence fell between the boys as Ron turned his gaze on Carl, sparing a glance down at the Junker's torso and lower abdomen, the hungry look in his eyes unmistakable.

Carl stared back, jaw set with anticipation, knowing all too well of the internal war Ron was having with himself. The pause was full of static electricity; it burned in Ron's throat like he was trying not to cry, but no tears were forming in his eyes.

Carl Grimes looked absolutely fuckable, no matter the consequences.

Ron threw the oven mitt down onto the now cool stove top, on top of Carl in what felt like no time at all. Carl barely had time to react as Ron crossed his arms to grip the edge of his own shirt and sweatshirt at once, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside with ease.

The tension of Carl's crotch under Ron's ass had the blond gagging for attention, and it was the junker that grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and forced him down for a heated locking of lips.


	7. Chapter 7

"What do you want?"

The words were burning in Ron's subconscious, even with the distraction in front of him so raw; so hot and heavy. Carl's breath was wet on his neck as his hips bucked, hard-on pressing against Ron's thigh. All Ron could manage in reply was the occasional "fuck" and "holy shit".

"What do you want?" Carl asked again, fingernails digging into the blonde's hips as they rutted against each other in vain, desperate for friction of any kind.

"Any- All," Ron sputtered, the pressure in the pit of his stomach almost too much to bear. "All of you."

With that, Carl flipped them over, positioning his hips between Ron's legs so they could continue their pelvic grinding. The junker's lips latched onto Ron's collar, slowly moving his kisses south. Ron arched his back, fisting through Carl's long hair in time with their movements, the only noises now being the rain, their grunts, and the wet kisses that Carl was slowly planting over every sensitive spot he could reach. Over his nipples, licking a wet stripe up his sternum, biting the flesh just below his belly button; he did it all, and Ron couldn't stop his legs from shaking horribly. Carl dipped his head, pressing his face into and nuzzling Ron's groin.

The blond threw his head back and didn't protest when he felt his jeans and boxers being shimmied down. Ron glanced down long enough to see Carl begin to work his mouth over his erection.

Ron's entire body seemed to jerk at the new sensation, but Carl's arms looped around his legs, holding him still so he could work his magic. The heat that surrounded Ron's dick had his hips buzzing with energy. Whatever Carl was doing with his tongue, it felt like heaven, and even more so when he hollowed out his cheeks and bobbed his head downwards, nose nestling in the blond curls at the base of Ron's cock.

It came as a shock when Carl's hand slipped even lower, and Ron let out a throaty yelp, but didn't protest, pressing his hips down onto Carl's fingers without a second thought. The pressure was building by the second and a choked gasp was the only warning that Carl had before his mouth was flooded with cum. It dribbled from the Junker's mouth and Ron could only whimper at the sight before Carl was back to working him open, now with the help of his own spunk.

Ron could only manage garbled speech when Carl flipped him back over, ass in the air. He could feel Carl behind him, pressing up from behind, hands pressing down on his shoulders. He was saying things, dirty things, but Ron couldn't focus, attempting to look back at the body hovering over his own, fingers digging into the foreign bed spread. A slow burn started as Carl began to press into him harder, and it grew more painful until pleasure burst behind his eyes in the form of blinding lights.

"F-u-uck, Carl,' Ron could hear his own voice, warped with arousal and whimpering stutters, and it shocked him for a moment.

This was actually happening.

And then, Carl rolled his hips, planting his hands on the bedspread, beginning to press deeper and harder until he was moving with full thrusts. The bed squeaked and groaned over the boy's pants and groans, and Ron knew without looking that he was hard again.

Carl felt huge inside him, buried to the hilt in his ass. The sensation of being filled was completely new, but he was beginning to enjoy the now pleasant burn. Carl yanked Ron's head back by pulling on a handful of his blond curls, exposing his neck and biting into his bare shoulder with a grunt of pleasure as yet another thrust landed home. Another guttural noise came from Ron as he pressed back onto Carl with each movement. The slap of skin on skin was yet another sound in the air, and the musky scent of sex hung thick around them.

When Carl pulled out completely, Ron whimpered in vexation, but he was quickly filled again after Carl flipped him over once more, moving over him with now-fluid-like motions. The blond hooked his legs over Carl's hips, clinging to the larger male with zero trepidation.

Carl's husky voice was loud in his ear now, and he could clearly hear what he was saying. The one-eyed Junker praised Ron's every movement, telling him how good, how tight he was, all while his hand pumped up and down on Ron's cock, rubbing him in all the right places.

Their swears and moans melded together in the small motel room, and Ron came for the second time that day, making a mess of his and Carl's chests. Carl came tumbling after him, riding it out with a few spastic thrusts before practically collapsing over Ron, their bodies covered in a sheen of sweat. Slowly, Carl pulled out of Ron, and both boys gave one last shuttering groan before Carl landed on the bed beside the blond, breathing heavily.

"Holy shit," Ron slurred, desperately trying to blink the exhaustion from his brown eyes.

"Holy shit," Carl agreed before slipping his tongue back into Ron's mouth. 

...

 

"Carl, your dad will kill you if he finds out you're here without telling him. He's been worried sick."

Ron shut his eyes tighter but strained his ears to hear the conversation between the girl and Carl.

"I know," Carl said softly, and there was the squeak of floorboards as someone moved across the room.

"Who is he, anyway?" The feminine voice asked, and Ron figured that it must be Enid, and he suddenly felt horribly guilty for having sex in her bed.

"Told you; Ron-"

"He's a savior, Carl. I know you say he's changed, and I believe you, but I'm afraid your dad and Ezekiel will not agree."

"Ezekiel gives second chances," Carl snapped, but 'Enid' protested.

"And if he doesn't? Then what? Are you prepared to kick him out, let him roam free outside the walls? Or worse, if they decide to kill him-"

Carl rose his voice slightly. "Second chance!"

"You know what- Fine, Carl. Jesus, I'm just trying to warn you, alright?"

It was quiet again, and Ron did his best to even his breaths.

"You should wake him up and get him clean. You both reek, and you owe me new sheets."

Carl grunted, and his footsteps drew closer until the Junker kneeled by the bed side.

Ron slowly opened his eyes and met the gaze of the blue one.

Carl smiled weakly, and Ron jumped slightly at the tenderness that the brunette carried as he gently brushed the pad of his thumb over Ron's brow, palm cupping his freckled cheek.

"Want shower?" He asked softly, practically breathing the words. When Ron nodded, he added, "With me?"

The idea brought butterflies to Ron's stomach, and he agreed. 

Upon standing, Ron realized exactly how sore he was. It was only thanks to Carl that he remained on his feet. Embarrassment swept over him, and he hid his face in the crook of Carl's neck, knowing that Enid's gaze lingered upon them.

"Got you," Carl murmured.

The two shuffled along awkwardly to the bathroom, Ron doing his best to not make eye contact with the onlooker, overcome with shame for the weakness in his knees and the ache in his lower stomach.

Only when the bathroom door was shut did Ron allow his expression to warp into a grimace. Carl instantly stood to attention.  
"Hurts? Where?"

The one eyed boy's hand slid down over the blonde's hip, gently helping him out of his boxers. The tenderness of his hamstrings and the dull numbness in his lower back was enough to remind Ron of every detail of the night before, and he sighed shakily as Carl helped him into the shower. The water was warm; warmer than the water in the Savior's compound, and Ron let the steady stream pour over him.

The dried cum between his legs brought a lump to Ron's throat, but he couldn't deny how his dick twitched at the memories of being fucked raw.

Carl pulled the curtain back and clambered into the stall and under the gentle spray with his recent partner.

For the first time, Ron noticed the height he had on the other boy. The brunette was beaten by at least 4 inches that the blond had, but the Junker's confidence didn't seem deflated in any way. He knew where he stood with the Savior.

Ron's mouth seemed to flood with saliva at the sight of Carl nude again, and he let his head fall to the boy's freckled shoulder, eyes fluttering closed. He parted his lips on the tanned skin, tongue sliding over the flesh before his teeth closed upon it, leaving a small indentation that made a moan rumble in Carl's chest.

"Touch me," Ron practically begged before nipping again, suddenly braver in his actions. To his delight, Carl's calloused hand slid between Ron's legs and palmed heavily at Ron's now-blatant and growing problem.

"Should be getting clean," Carl said softly before he gasped sharply as Ron's hand wandered south. "-fuck."

The mutual touching was savored as both boys undid each other with shaking hands and nasty words that had each other trembling.

Eventually, they were belly to belly, jaws locked with lust, cocks slick with water as they slid together with each roll of their hips.

There was a rapid knock on the door, "Carl? Your dad is here-"

Carl's movements slowed to a stop where as Ron froze in complete horror.

...

Ron was not sure how much longer he could hide in the motel bathroom. It wasn't as if he'd been forced into hiding, though; he'd simply let Carl dry off, get dressed, and leave while he remained locked in the moldy facility with anxiety bubbling in his gut. From what he could understand through the Junkers' odd language barrier and hear through the door, Carl's dad was all too aware of a remaining person in the shower room but was far too absorbed in reprimanding his son to investigate Ron's presence further. Ron hoped it would stay that way. He wasn't too keen on explaining himself.

Only when the muffled yelling grew louder did Ron tune in completely, straining his ears to piece together the choppy words as he pulled his shirt down over his head and buckled his pants, thankful that Enid had slipped him his clothes so he wasn't completely vulnerable.

"Should have shut mouth!" The older man shouted with true anger behind his words.   
"Then you'd be home!"

"I'd rather fight back than be Negan's BITCH." Ron clapped a hand to his mouth to stifle the shout of laughter that'd risen in his throat, but no one outside seemed to take notice.

"So you escape, run to Kingdom to lay with more girls?!" Rick's voice was even louder now, and Ron paled considerably upon realizing that it was because he was by the door, not because he was yelling louder. "What of your sister and I?! What of Lydia!"

Ron could practically hear the sneer in Carl's tone as he spoke again, "Lydia is like sister to me."

"Because you appeal to no one but WHORE!"

The door squealed on its hinges as it opened, and Ron jumped, standing ridged like a deer trapped in headlights. Rick's reaction to finding a scrawny boy rather than a woman in the bathroom was much the same as Ron's, and he only stared, expression going quite blank as he began to puzzle the new information into the equation.

Ron took the opportunity to duck under Rick's arm and book it across the room  
and to Enid's side where she sat on her bed, legs crossed.

"Whore and I fuck all night!" Carl snarled snidely, taking the situation by storm. "Give no shit about you!"

Slowly, Rick turned to face his son, and he looked utterly exhausted.

"Fuck you!" Carl continued, nose twitching with rage as he held his ground. "You let them take me and lock me up! You do nothing! YOU'RE MY DAD!"

"So you get back at me by fucking boy?" Rick all but growled, a new tone of spite present in his voice.

"No, I get back at you by telling you to go fuck yourself," Carl said stepping forward to show his lack of fear. "Fucking blonde savior was for ME."

"SHUT YOUR MOUTH," Rick yelled back, and the words were ringing in Ron's ears as they bounced off the thin walls of the motel room. Enid's finger tips brushed against the back of his hand. At least he knew she was on his side.

"We can leave," she murmured, and the idea appealed to Ron as he blinked dazedly as the shouts buzzed around his skull and behind his eyes much like the start of a migraine. Peace and quiet seemed like a dream compared to the stuffy, chaotic atmosphere of Enid's room. 

As they left, stepping into the chilled, damp air of the motel parking lot, Ron could hear Carl's anger as he raised his voice again, "You refuse responsibility when I'm in danger, but claim again when I'm being happy?! No! Don't want you around!" , but the door closed over before anything more than muffled yelling could be heard and Ron swallowed down the humid air of the morning.

"I'm sorry about them," Enid said, shouldering her oversized coat, grinding a bit of broken glass into the sidewalk with a raw crunch. "They don't do much but argue, and I don't think Rick really expected to see you-- you know?"

Ron only nodded, gazing across the foggy parking lot, anywhere but at Enid. The embarrassment was beginning to wear on him.

"Let's go get breakfast," Enid offered, "Wait for them to calm down."

"Sounds great," Ron croaked, and they set off across the vacant parking lot in silence, leaving the shouts behind.

...

Recollections of the night prior was not what kept Ron from eating; it was the scrutiny that he was being shown, sitting across from both Sophia and Mikey, who were shoulder to shoulder and making a show of raising eyebrows at Ron's silence.

Enid took great care in playing both oblivious to the tension that Ron displayed, and ignorant to its cause. Ron was thankful for this and denied anything thing being wrong, despite the obvious change in his attitude.

Their initial reunion had been pleasant, but Ron was quickly shifted into a mood that was quite alien to both Mikey and Soph, and the blond had found himself berated with question-after-question about his trip to the Kingdom, when he'd arrived, and why he hadn't come and seen them sooner, which eventually spiraled into an awkward silence between the trio, Enid being excluded from the group as she ranted tirelessly about asinine things such as the weather or inconveniences of her working shifts.

"It's just ridiculous to have to wake up so early, patrol for 15 minutes, and then have an hour and a half of break, you know? If I was to have a job to do in that time, it'd be great, but it's so boring to have nothing to do but sit around and doze off waiting for-"

She was interrupted by none other than the subject of Ron's odd train of thought, Carl Grimes, as he slammed a beaten, plastic lunch tray down on the soft, rain drenched wood of the occupied picnic table, and wedged himself between Ron and Enid, forcing the now annoyed girl to scoot over with a roll of her eyes.

Ron's breath hitched, as for a moment he was sure Carl was going to say something that gave away their secret-- or worse-- move to touch him intimately in some way. Carl did nothing of the sort though, simply beginning to eat his meal of an apple and a hefty slice of bread.

The silence was deafening in Ron's ears as his friend's eyes bore into him, but the moment soon passed and Enid struck up a conversation once more, and this time, Sophia opted to join in, much to the other girl's delight. Slowly but surely, Mikey's attention too was drawn, and he ate quietly and listened to the two talk about the security of the walls.

That was when Carl slipped his hand over Ron's thigh and gave him a little squeeze that sent a shiver up the blond's spine. But, he didn't stop there; he palmed at Ron's half-hard cock with little to no shame or reserve.

Once Ron had steadied himself and suppressed the squeaking noise in his throat (playing it off as a cough), he shifted his legs, unsure if he was enjoying Carl's eagerness to continue their shower endeavor, despite the change of scenery.

The thought of stopping Carl soon flitted away because the way Carl's hand squeezed at his crotch forced Ron to focus only on making sure he made no noise. He quickly snatched his own bread, breaking off a large piece and stuffing it in his mouth.

Even chewing was hard to concentrate on.

Chew, chew, swallow, repeat. Chew, chew-- oh!

Carl's hand had wormed its way under his belt, and Ron nearly choked at the skin to skin fondling. A little "ah" had managed to escape him, drawing both Sophia's, Mikey's and now Enid's attention for a moment, in which Carl's hand stilled but didn't leave his pants, and Ron gulped down water from his bottle in an effort to wave them off.

It worked, and Carl was back to touching all too quickly.

Ron knew red must have been creeping into his cheeks, and Mikey's "are you okay" was proof. He didn't trust himself to answer verbally either, and he nodded curtly, biting the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood.

He was so close, so horrifyingly close to both climax and being caught, that true panic had set him, and bracing his feet flat to the rain soaked ground was not enough to steady to tremor in his knees as Carl's warm, calloused hand slid up his cock, and he thumbed his slit -- and then- then pulled away.

Just like that, the pressure of Carl's hand was lifted, yet the other pressure between Ron's hips remained, and it was all the ex-savior could do to contain the shock and, strangely enough, disappointment. He was painfully hard, and angry that Carl seemed virtually unaffected.

It was bat shit insane, completely so, yet there the brunette was, biting into his apple as if nothing had been going on under the table as if he'd been in-tune with the convention the entire time.

Ron's clenched his jaw to mask the tremble and focused on his half eaten loaf of bread.

The concealed touching was the beginning of a game, a game that Ron was sure that Carl was going to find much pleasure in playing. Ron swallowed his pride, took a bite of bread, and then swallowed that.

If Carl wanted to mess around, then that was fine. Ron would play the game.


End file.
